<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Senses by g33kyclassic</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052886">Senses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic'>g33kyclassic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:20:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusuf dies, rather uneventfully in Jerusalem - except he dreams of a man, a Frank, and lives again.  Thus starts the beginning of the connection between Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicolo di Genova.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Senses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is yet another 'how Yusuf and Nicolo meet and fall in love fic'.  I have made no particular attempt for historical detail or accuracy, so please forgive me all errors (if I have made any significant mis-steps, please let me know).  This fic is more discovering than it is about history.</p>
<p>This fic is also a structural experiment, with most sections representing one of the five senses.  If that isn't for you, feel free to pass this one by.</p>
<p>All thanks to The Old Guard film and fandom who have fuelled my inspiration for this fic!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <b>1.</b>
</p>
<p>He never thought it would be like this. </p>
<p>Death. Dying.</p>
<p>Ragged breaths and full body shivers.  Each moment a struggle his whole being fought against, clinging to life with every remaining bit of energy he has. He cannot rise from the bed; his body is wracked by shivers one minute and drenched in sweat the next. He is, as the healer had declared days ago, a hopeless case.</p>
<p>Still, he suffers and hopes.</p>
<p>To think, after years of travel, learning, trade, war, and espionage, he has been brought down by disease, an invisible enemy he cannot seem to fight against.</p>
<p>He had thought to stay in Jerusalem, to collect information on the progress of the Franks, to assist in defending the city. Now he can offer nothing, do nothing.  Not for himself, nor for others.  He is a husk of his former self.</p>
<p>That night, the shivering won’t end and Yusuf’s vision clouds, blackness creeping around the edges. His teeth chatter and his hands clench, until he can feel nothing.  He is weightless, detached from his body, a mind and soul, but nothing more.</p>
<p>He dies.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <i>He watches the other man with a frown.  He should not be here, in the barren landscape and the sweltering heat.  He is wearing armour: it gleams in the sun and weighs him down, causing him to stumble and swerve. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>There are others ahead of him, in similar garb, some on foot, others on horseback.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The man is being left behind.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He stumbles and falls to his knees, his hands gripping the dirt to keep himself upright.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Though he is simply watching, Yusuf knows, he knows, the man thirsts.  That it has been hours since he has had a drop of water, days since he has had more than a bite of food.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The man lifts his head, swaying on his knees, watching his people leave him behind.  Then he collpases.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He turns his body over and squints up into the sky.  Yusuf can see his lips moving, eyes closed, hand clutching at something on his chest.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He cannot understand the words the man speaks; they are soft, and not a language Yusuf knows.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He listens attentively, unable to leave the man be, drawn to him, the need to understand him coursing through his veins. The man is a stranger, yet he feels like a brother.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>‘Deus.’ The man’s lips curl around the word, caressing it softly.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The man is praying.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Yusuf understands; the man knows he is dying and he is conversing with his maker. Yusuf spoke to Allah many times on his deathbed; asking, imploring, rambling.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>When it is your time, it is your time. Allah did not answer his pleas. He does not answer this man’s pleas either.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Yusuf watches.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The man dies. </i>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Yusuf wakes, gulping air, body rocketing upward, the man hovering over his body yells and runs out of the room.</p>
<p>Yusuf is sitting, panting slightly when the healer enters.</p>
<p>“We thought you were dead.” She says, easing her way into the room and placing a hand on his forehead.</p>
<p>“It seems I live for another day.” Yusuf replies.</p>
<p>He lets the healer touch him, check his lungs, listen to his heart.  He feels… well, whole. And yet, his dream remains, calling to him, asking him questions he cannot answer.</p>
<p>“Have the Franks arrived?” Yusuf asks.</p>
<p>“The Franks?” The healer looks at him questioningly. “No. May the desert take them.”</p>
<p>“I am well?” Yusuf stands, reaching for his things, asking more for the healer than himself.</p>
<p>“You are well, though I am not certain how.” The woman replies.</p>
<p>“I must leave.” Yusuf explains. “Thank you for your care.  I will speak of your skill to others.”</p>
<p>It is an easy promise to make and Yusuf insures he follows through, speaking of the healer often over the next weeks.  But that is but a distration from his true goal: warning the leaders of Jerusalem that the Franks are coming.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>2.</b>
</p>
<p>He sees him first. </p>
<p>Of course he does, how else would he recognize the man from his dreams? The man who has plagued him night after night.  He should have been dead, and yet he marched with the Franks, moving ever closer to Jerusalem.  They have been here now for months, and army of foreign men camped outside the city, who had breached its walls within the last week, raining death and destruction on its citizens. Despite their unexplained connection, despite knowing the man is out there somewhere, this is the first Yusuf has seen of the man in the flesh.</p>
<p>It is difficult to tell the Franks apart, with their armour and helmets. Through the dust, dirt, smoke, and blood, they all looked more or less the same. </p>
<p>And yet, this man stands out.</p>
<p>Even in the chaos of what remained of Jerusalem, Yusuf is struck by those eyes. Deep, pale green, and focused, taking in everything around him. The man moves with a grace that belies his heavy constricting armour, his sword moving like an extension of his arm.</p>
<p>In another time and place Yusuf might have called it beautiful.</p>
<p>Today, the man is merely another invader.</p>
<p>Their blades meet and Yusuf feels it in his bones: the impact and the connection.  It is a fierce conflict, both Yusuf and the man from his dreams have fought battles before and they are accustomed to winning.  They do not give an inch.</p>
<p>He must kill the man, and yet when his scimitar hits flesh, he is disappointed. He’s covered in sweat, exhausted, and bleeding from half a dozen small wounds the other man has inflected, but still he wishes their dance could have continued.</p>
<p>He steps back as the other man falls to his knees, mortally wounded, but completely silent.  The Frank looks at him, with those penetrating eyes, unwavering and shining with hatred. As Yusuf stands, his feet refusing to move his body away, the Frank’s expression shifts, brow furrowing, eyes widening.</p>
<p>Yusuf has a moment to wonder if the other man recognizes him, if they have somehow been dreaming of each other, when he feels the cold steel of a blade enter his stomach. Looking down he sees a small, thin dagger in the Frank’s hand, now embedded in his gut.</p>
<p>Yusuf staggers back a step and then falls to his knees, mere inches away from the Frank.</p>
<p>Today, they die together.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>3.</b>
</p>
<p>The first time he hears the man from his dreams speak, is in the mountains.  They have been tied together and left for dead.</p>
<p>Yusuf has been speaking for some time.</p>
<p>“What have you done to lose the trust of your men?”  Yusuf asks in Arabic, receiving no reply.</p>
<p>“I understand why I am here, infidel that I am, but you?  I am at a loss.” He tries, Greek this time.</p>
<p>The man tied behind him says nothing.</p>
<p>He’s always been quiet, the Frank.  Even in Yusuf’s dreams, the man says little.  The Franks around him speak; baudy jokes, prayers, and songs, but this man stays silent. An observer to the world, more than a participant.  </p>
<p>Yusuf wonders if he can say anything that will make the man speak. They were hauled out of the city and into the mountains by his people. Men who had called them both betrayers of Christ, but the Frank had said nothing in return.  He had given no protests, offered no resistance when his men had striped him of his armour, beat him, and tied him.</p>
<p>He was, and remained, an enigma.</p>
<p>“Do you ever speak?”  Yusuf asks, in what he is sure is very poor Latin, a language he has mostly read and barely spoken.</p>
<p>“I speak.” The other man replies, his voice both exactly as Yusuf expected and yet not.</p>
<p>It is soft, calm, steady in every way, but deeper, richer and more pleasant than Yusuf would have thought.</p>
<p>“Ah!  He speaks. Will wonders never cease.” Yusuf laughs. “Do you understand Arabic?” He asks. “Or Greek?”</p>
<p>“Little Greek.” The man answers carefully. “Genoese.”</p>
<p>Yusuf frowns.  “No Genoese.” He says slowly in Greek. “I am Yusuf.”</p>
<p>“Nicolo.”</p>
<p>“How many times have you died?”</p>
<p>“By your hand?”</p>
<p>Yusuf can hear soft amusement in the other man’s voice and he laughs. Nicolo’s Greek is awful, but Yusuf is glad they can communicate at all.</p>
<p>“You have killed me dozens of times.” Yusuf acknowledges. “But others have killed me as well.”</p>
<p>“I have stopped counting.” Nicolo admits.</p>
<p>“I have not died of thirst, or hunger, nor do I wish to. Will you escape with me?” Yusuf says, making an attempt to turn his torso and head to see the other man.</p>
<p>“With you?” Nicolo repeats, his voice thoughtful, his implication clear.</p>
<p>“I dreamt of you. Before we met.” Yusuf begins, not quite sure what he is trying to say, but letting his voice lead him. “I cannot kill you; you cannot kill me. We cannot stay here; our difference has been met with fear. Should we be found again by your countrymen, we will simply meet the same fate as today. If we leave together, we can discover what we are.”</p>
<p>Yusuf waits.  He is not a patient man, but Nicolo’s answer is worth waiting for.</p>
<p>“I dreamt of you.  Many times.” Nicolo says and then pauses. “I have died of thirst once, it was not pleasant.”</p>
<p>Yusuf recalls his dreams of Nicolo’s first death; so long, so slow, so painful. Nicolo is understating.</p>
<p>“You will come?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Do you think if we tear our hands off, we will heal? Will they grow back?” Yusuf ponders.</p>
<p>“I hope not to find out.” Nicolo replies drily.</p>
<p>Yusuf laughs, loud and full. After a moment, Nicolo joins him, quieter, but still laughing. It is the sweetest sound Yusuf has ever heard.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>4.</b>
</p>
<p>The Frank smells.</p>
<p>Yusuf knew the Franks did not understand the benefits of bathing, uneducated as they were.  But travelling through the mountains and deserts in close quarters with a man who had not bathed in weeks, is more than he can bare.</p>
<p>“You must bathe!” Yusuf insists, his voice rising in frustration as Nicolo stands, arms crossing his chest and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“You smell like the inside of a barn.  Travelling with you is a torture I cannot abide.”</p>
<p>Nicolo is fastideous about many things.  He cleans his hands and face multiple times a day, he cleans his weapon nightly and offers to do the same for Yusuf’s scimitar should he desire.  He eats his food with the careful bites of a man who was accustomed to surviving on very little and would never think to complain.</p>
<p>But no matter how many times Yusuf suggests he bathe, the man plainly refuses.</p>
<p>Yusuf has had enough.</p>
<p>“You will leave me here, alone in a foreign land, if I do not bathe?” Nicolo asks, face expressionless.</p>
<p>“Your smell is intolerable.” Yusuf nods toward the stream, nearby. “Clean yourself - your full body - or I kill you and leave.”</p>
<p>“It is an indulgance.” Nicolo states after an extended silence.</p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“Frequent bathing is an indulgance, a sign of vanity, and thus a sin in the eyes of God.” Nicolo replies. “But if it is so important to you, I will bathe.” He continues with a shrug.</p>
<p>“You will?” Yusuf says, surprised.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Nicolo explains as he begins to remove his clothes. “I think it was destiny that we met.  I will not disrespect God, who brought us to each other; the two men in all of the Holy Land who cannot be slain be blade, nor sickness, nor thirst. I will bathe, and we will remain as we are: together.”</p>
<p>Yusuf watches as Nicolo walks to the water, his pale skin gleaming in the sun. He is struck again by the differences between himself and Nicolo: their histories, their religion, the colour of their skin. Fate could not have found a man more different than himself, yet they were bound by their unique ability.</p>
<p>Nicolo ducks himself down under the water quickly, disappearing for several moments, before popping up again, smiling broadly.</p>
<p>“Every week!” Yusuf yells. “You must bathe every week and with soap if we have it.”</p>
<p>Nicolo dives under the water and surfaces again, his white teeth flashing as he throws his head back and laughs.</p>
<p>Yusuf is both happy to report Nicolo’s scent is much more pleasant later that day, and slightly disturbed by how much he likes it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>5.</b>
</p>
<p>They have been traveling for months. There had been many uneasy moments, seemingly endless misunderstandings and conversations that ended in curses, waving arms, and threats of violence.</p>
<p>Nicolo was generally a quiet and keen observer, but when he argued he was stubborn as a mule.</p>
<p>A month ago, however, Yusuf had stumbled upon a way to unite them. A month ago, Yusuf had discovered Nicolo could barely read and could not a write so much as his own name.</p>
<p>Nicolo was a street rat, or so he’d told Yusuf as he’d peered over his shoulder watching Yusuf write with an innocent curiosity Yusuf found impossible to resist. He’d been found on the streets of Genoa, an ragged underfed orphan, and raised by priests in the local church.  He could recite passages from the bible from memory with ease when Yusuf pressed, but he had never held a charcoal pencil.</p>
<p>Yusuf had been hesitant to offer to teach him.  They were already trying, with varying degrees of success, to teach each other Arabic and Genoese. Nicolo was a diligent student, determined and dedicated.  Yusuf was used to picking up new languages from his years of travel, and found things easier, which he knew frustrated his companion – always feeling behind.</p>
<p>But Nicolo had surprised him; his determination doubling in the face of the challenge of learning the written word.  He pestered Yusuf to write letters in the sand every day, and copied them out using a stick, over and over, as Yusuf set up camp for the night.  </p>
<p>Today, Yusuf sits beside Nicolo in the shade of a tree, where they are hiding from the heat of the midday sun.</p>
<p>“Practice in this.” He offers, placing a small leather bound book and a charcoal pencil in Nicolo’s hands.</p>
<p>Nicolo looks at him, those swirling grey green eyes questioning. </p>
<p>“It’s easier than a stick.” Yusuf grins, and then gets up, walking away to retrieve their water.</p>
<p>Walking back, Yusuf stops and watches for a moment; the Frank sitting with his lips pursed, his hand tightly clutching the pencil.</p>
<p>“Not so tight.” He calls out, stepping closer. “Gently.”</p>
<p>“Gently?” Nicolo peers up at him.</p>
<p>“Gently.” Yusuf sits beside him. “Like how you hold a freshly plucked flower you are bringing to your love, or how you caress a beloved’s skin.”</p>
<p>Nicolo blinks owlishly and finally responds: “I was raised in the church and training to be a priest.  I have had no beloveds.”</p>
<p>It is Yusuf’s turn to pause, staring at Nicolo, seeing him as if he is a new creature.</p>
<p>“Can I show you?”  He finally asks.</p>
<p>Nicolo nods, and Yusuf reaches forward, suddenly hesitant.  </p>
<p>Have they ever touched?  </p>
<p>They have killed each other, many times; touches and contact of anger, hatred, fear, and desperation. They have accidentally bumped each other while packing up their gear, their horses, or setting up camp.  But Yusuf has never touched Nicolo, not with any kindness, not with any intent of friendly assistance.</p>
<p>When Yusuf lays his hand on top of Nicolo’s it feels significant.  It tingles, and Yusuf’s pulse races. The connection he feels to Nicolo, the bond they have been forging over these past weeks travelling together, pales in comparison to this moment, this seal of friendship.</p>
<p>“Like this.”  Yusuf gently moved Nicolo’s fingers, adjusting his grip. “Loosen your grip, you have to guide the pencil, not force it.”</p>
<p>Nicolo’s hands are broad, strong and calloused; used to yielding a sword, not a writing implement. Yusuf can feel the other man’s muscles clenching and releasing as he tried to follow Yusuf’s direction.</p>
<p>Something changes after that moment. Nicolo works in his book every night before the sun sets, but when he is done, he speaks to Yusuf.  They share their lives, their pasts with each other.</p>
<p>There are other touches, simple ones, but they are there and Yusuf feels each one of them as if it were the first.  Finger tips touching as they pass bowls of food to one another. Congratulatory pats on the shoulder when one of them returns from a successful hunt for food, or supplies. Huddling together for warmth at night as winter approaches and they are exposed, sleeping outdoors, far from any city.</p>
<p>Yusuf can’t say exactly what they are, but they are not merely travelling together because they are both afflicted with the same inability to die; they are now something more.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>6.</b>
</p>
<p>The taste exploded in his mouth: tangy and rich, tartness mixed with a savoury base. Yusuf almost moans in pleasure.</p>
<p>“Why have you never cooked before?” Yusuf demands. “Why I have I been cooking, when we could have been eating this - whatever delight this is”</p>
<p>Nicolo shrugs a shoulder. “You cooked the first time.  Thought you liked it.”</p>
<p>“If you can make something like this, I’m happy to never cook again.” Yusuf watches Nicolo’s cheeks colour, before he ducks his head down, staring at his own food.</p>
<p>“If you prefer.” Nicolo says softly, several moments later.</p>
<p>Yusuf wonders then what Nicolo’s life has been like, prior to his journey to the Holy Land.  He likely had not had any of the luxuries Yusuf had had as the son of a wealthy merchant; the ability to travel, a good education, the ability to choose what he would do with his life.</p>
<p>He takes a moment to close his eyes, savouring the flavour of Nicolo’s cooking, tasting spices he hasn’t had the chance to taste in ages.</p>
<p>“Where did you get these spices?” He asks, curious.</p>
<p>“One of the bandits had them in his satchel.” </p>
<p>“The man who killed me? Or the one with the crooked nose?”</p>
<p>“Crooked nose.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Yusuf stares at Nicolo until he looks up and meets his gaze. “How did you kill him – the man who shot me with the arrow?”</p>
<p>Nicolo doesn’t answer right away, which isn’t unexpected, the man always takes his time. Yusuf watches him chew his food slowly, swallowing, and yet still silent.</p>
<p>“I strangled him.” Nicolo sets down his bowl and shifts his body, moving his hands behind him.</p>
<p>Yusuf cocks his head to the side. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” Nicolo dismisses.</p>
<p>Yusuf moves forward as Nicolo turns away picking up his bowl and walking off and kneeling down in the sand to clean out his dish.</p>
<p>“He is the first man to kill me since you.” Yusuf observes, kneeling beside Nicolo to clean his own bowl.</p>
<p>“There was that crocodile...”</p>
<p>“That does not count!” Yusuf protests, indignant.</p>
<p>“It drowned you and ate your arm.” Nicolo gives him a pointed look, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.</p>
<p>“Answering the question of whether we can re-grow limbs.”</p>
<p>“So you let it eat you on purpose, to answer the question once and for all.”</p>
<p>“Obviously.”</p>
<p>Yusuf watches as Nicolo breaks into one of his rare full smiles and gives a short laugh in return.</p>
<p>The silence that falls between them after that is easy, companionable.  They clean their dishes and return them to the travel bags on their horses.  Setting up their tent takes mere moments, they are so used to the mundane routine.</p>
<p>With the last light of the sun still peaking over the horizon, Yusuf turns to Nicolo, laying an hand firmly on his arm.</p>
<p>“Thank you. For killing the man who killed me. You are a true friend.”</p>
<p>Nicolo turns and clasps Yusuf’s arm in return.</p>
<p>“I will do the same again, should the need arise, friend.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>7.</b>
</p>
<p>Yusuf kicks at the door, but it holds fast. His chest is heaving, half in exertion, half in panic.</p>
<p>He has been alone in this room for hours.  He has no idea where Nicolo has been taken and he cannot fathom spending a night alone without him.</p>
<p>It is strange to think there was a time they were not together, when they were opponents on opposite sides of a battle.  After more than a year travelling together, wandering through foreign lands, hoping to find the women in their dreams, Yusuf finds even these few hours without Nicolo to be wretched.</p>
<p>He has practically shouted himself hoarse calling for his friend, but received nothing but a beating from the guards for his trouble.</p>
<p>Though he has little doubt Nicolo is alive, he finds he wants to see his face, hear his voice, but all his has is this cell and the stench of this place.</p>
<p>All he has now is time, and he’s had a great deal of that already.</p>
<p>He cannot help but turn their capture over and over in his mind.  How could they have let their guard down and allowed it to happen? </p>
<p>Yusuf can’t help but blame himself; he had been distracted.</p>
<p>They had taken a job working for a wealthy family, who required guards for their estate due to an intense rivalry with another wealthy, powerful family within the city. Apparently, from what Yusuf and Nicolo had been able to glean, the families fought over everything: politics, trade, money, even marriages.  The latest conflict between them was a heated battle over which family’s daughter would be chosen by the the most eligible man in the province: the Duke’s son and heir.</p>
<p>Nicolo had made the mistake of being himself: steadfast, loyal, kind, and infinitely polite.  The daughter of the family who’d hired them had fallen desperately, and if Yusuf was being honest, a bit ridiculously, in love with him.  </p>
<p>It had been rather amusing for a time. Yusuf had teased Nicolo fiercely for several days and enjoyed himself immensely. However, the girl’s affections did not diminish, but rather increased with time.  She became a nuisance, to both Yusuf and Nicolo’s work, and to her father’s plots and plans.</p>
<p>Yusuf should have seen it coming – their employer’s anger and his betrayal.  But he had been far too distracted; scowling at the girl as Nicolo eyed him helplessly, completely baffled by the turn of events.</p>
<p>Nicolo was many things, many wonderous things, but he was innocently unaware of his own appeal.</p>
<p>Now, they are in the dungeons of the very estate they’ve been protecting.  Or, at the very least, Yusuf is  in the dungeons.  He hopes Nicolo is as well.  He does not like to think of what might be happening to his friend if he is not locked away in a cell somewhere.</p>
<p>Yusuf twists his wrists, making another fruitless attempt to break from the chains binding him to the wall. He pulls and strains, feeling the steel digging into his skin, to no avail.</p>
<p>That’s when he hears the bang and the sound of muffled shouts through the door of his cell.</p>
<p>Yusuf crawls forward, getting himself as close to the door as possible, straining to hear every sound.  He can hear the shuffle of feet, the clang of sword on sword, the moans of dying men.</p>
<p>Finally, the jiggle of keys.</p>
<p>Yusuf scrambles back, getting himself to his knees and then his feet: ready to face whatever is coming through the door.</p>
<p>He stutters back a step when a man steps through, covered in dirt and filth. </p>
<p>“Nicolo?” He whispers, not believing his eyes.</p>
<p>Nicolo nods sharply, stepping forward and unlocking Yusuf’s restraints with a deft efficiency.</p>
<p>“We must move quickly.” Nicolo mutters, his voice hoarse.</p>
<p>Yusuf knows he is right, and he doesn’t spare any time questioning his companion.</p>
<p>“Which route is best?” He asks rubbing his wrists as they exit the cell, and Nicolo passes him a sword, no longer being used by a fallen guard.</p>
<p>“This way.” </p>
<p>Yusuf grabs a crossbow from another dead man as he follows Nicolo down the corridor.  Nicolo has a map of the estate in his mind, that much Yusuf knows; the man has an eerily accurate sense of direction and he always takes the time to get to know his surroundings. It is paying dividends today.</p>
<p>Nicolo leads them through a winding series of dark, dank passageways, until they emerge into a wooded area.  Yusuf stumbles initially, the light a shock to his eyes.  Nicolo pulls him forward and they keep moving.</p>
<p>Yusuf thinks about protesting their pace, but only for a moment.  Nicolo would not be driving them at such speed if he did not feel it necessary.</p>
<p>By the time Nicolo stops, they have crossed a river and the moon, a dull sliver in the sky, is the only source of light.  </p>
<p>Yusuf sits, grabbing onto Nicolo’s hand and pulling him down with him until they are together on the ground, legs entwined.  </p>
<p>Yusuf reaches forward cupping Nicolo’s face in his hands.  He lets his head fall forward, his nose resting in the crook of Nicolo’s neck.  He allows himself to touch, his fingers stroking down Nicolo’s face and into his hair.  He allows himself to smell, inhaling the sweat, the blood, the pure manly scent that is Nicolo.  His eyes flutter closed as he savours this moment, the return of this connection.</p>
<p>“Yusuf?” Nicolo says, his voice rising in concern.</p>
<p>“More.” Yusuf pleads.</p>
<p>“More?” Nicolo questions. </p>
<p>“Speak.”</p>
<p>“Yusuf… I am sorry it took me so long to get to you. I did try, but I had to let them kill me before I could surprise them and escape. Did they hurt you, Yusuf? What do you need? Yusuf?” </p>
<p>Nicolo’s hands run down Yusuf’s arms, to his sides, feeling, searching for some mysterious injury that might be troubling him.  An unnecessary action given their immortality and healing ability, though Yusuf understands. If his hands would move, if they would stop holding Nicolo’s face, he would do the same.</p>
<p>He can hear the distress in Nicolo’s voice, but he knows he cannot answer, for the tears in his own eyes and the lump in his throat.</p>
<p>He pulls back and looks, taking in Nicolo’s face: his sharp cheekbones, his deep soulful eyes.  He is here, with Yusuf once more and the world should feel aligned again, but it doesn’t.</p>
<p>It isn’t enough, despite seeing, touching, smelling, hearing, it isn’t enough.</p>
<p>“Can I kiss you?” He asks, because he has to; perhaps he’s denied the need until now, but he cannot hold it back a moment longer.</p>
<p>Nicolo’s eyes widen, making them larger than Yusuf would have thought possible.  Yusuf might have found that amusing another day, but tonight he waits, as patient as he has ever been.</p>
<p>“Only if you promise to kiss me every day.” Nicolo says, his voice quiet, but sure.</p>
<p>“Today and every day until the sun refuses to rise.” Yusuf vows, before he captures Nicolo’s mouth.</p>
<p>Nicolo’s lips are everything; soft, yet firm, gentle, yet demanding.  But it is his taste, a taste that is all Nicolo, that will always be Nicolo, that both settles him and drives him forward. The new sounds Nicolo makes are music to his ears, the way Nicolo’s fingers dig into his arms is a pleasure pain that thrills him to the core.</p>
<p>The kiss feels endless, and yet is over too soon, both he and Nicolo pulling away gasping for air, clutching onto each other as if they are adrift at sea and only the other man will keep them afloat.</p>
<p>“You are my destiny. God brought you to me.” Nicolo whispers. </p>
<p>“And me to you.” </p>
<p>It is natural later, after too many kisses to count, to lie down and wind himself around Nicolo, his arm wrapping around the other man, their finger twinning, his nose tucking into his neck. Nicky places his sword at the ready, within easy reach of his free hand, the crossbow next to it.</p>
<p>Despite the horror of recent events, Yusuf feels nothing but safety and comfort.  His senses are filling with nothing but Nicolo. For the first time since he was ripped away from Nicolo earlier that day, he is at peace.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>